I'd Confront the Stars Tonight
by Hisashi Loves Yelen
Summary: Mitsui/OC. An exchange student crosses paths with Mitsui. Your typical Mitsui/OC fic. Ch 7: Pointless cat fights ahead. [On-going]
1. Chapter One: Blast From the Past

I'd Confront the Stars Tonight

Let me start off this by saying that I have never written a full-length fanfiction, with chapters, in my life. Needless to say, this is my first Slam Dunk fanfic and I don't know where it's headed yet, but I'm having fun writing it so I decided to post it. I haven't finished watching/reading the series but that shouldn't matter, yes? I won't beg, but please review. Constructive criticism is good. 

Disclaimer: I don't own Slam Dunk, although I do wish I owned Mitsui Hisashi, so don't rub it in by suing. If you really want to, wait til I become a world-wide bestselling writer. Deal? 

Pairings and nature of fic: Mitsui/OC (finally figured out that it stands for 'original character' - duh), totally stupid, totally moronic, totally shoddy, but totally worth-reading because this genius wrote it. 

Tip: To make sense of sequence of events, watch out for tenses. (Although my grammar really sucks and I do make mistakes.) 

************

Chapter One: Blast From the Past

I honestly didn't realise that he is standing right behind me until I feel the air move. Instantly alert, I whip my head around...and find myself staring into a strange yet familiar face. 

I'm sure I've seen the blue-streaked hair somewhere before. The stranger's cocky posture stirs something in my memory, from the way his mouth is turned upward into a little ironic grin to the way he's looking at me, as if he's found his princess. 

"What are you doing?" he asks casually, gazing at the notebook in my hands. 

Self-consciously, I snap it shut and stand up. He easily towers over me, even though I'm taller than any of my friends. 

"I'm sorry. Do I know you?" 

His eyebrow shoots up, and a brief flash of hurt forms on his face, but it is only for a couple of seconds. Pretty soon, he's slipped his aloof facade back on. 

"I see you don't remember me," he drawls steadily, locking his eyes on mine. "Well, why am I not surprised?" 

I let out a small sigh. Whoever this person is, he must have a huge memory capacity for remembering strangers; that, or he's simply nuts. 

"Look," I say, trying to keep the slight annoyance I'm feeling out of my voice. "I really am not in the mood to talk right now. So, if you don't mind, just tell me who you are, or leave me alone." 

The stranger purses his lips and snorts. "Fine." He looks at me with an expression I can't quite read as he continues, and begins to shatter my world: "I'm Mitsui Hisashi." 

Oh my god. Time must be standing still, for I don't feel anything moving. The strong wind has stopped raging, the people around have stopped talking, even the air molecules have stopped moving. All that remains is this moment. A sudden blast from the past. One that I'm not at all prepared for. 

When I haven't replied, Mitsui goes on impatiently, "I played basketball for Shohoku High. I wore the number 14 jersey. I was MVP in junior high. Remember me? Mitsui Hisashi? Hisashi Mitsui? The magnificent three-point shooter?" 

"Right," I say softly. I am in shock. There is no other way to describe the state I'm in. Over the years, I've learnt to expect surprises, but never once in my life have I fathomed _this._

Mitsui runs a hand through his hair and scowls, a clear sign that he's annoyed. I want to say something but no words would come. 

"That all you're gonna say?" 

His eyes are still one mine. I've forgotten how intense and penetrating they can be. 

I need to sit down. Now. Without a word, I sink back down to where I got up from only moments before. "Um," I say. "Uh. No." 

Mitsui drops his body next to me and sighs. "To be honest, I didn't expect much from you, but I certainly expected more than this. I thought...well, I don't know what, but -- " 

"Okay, sorry," I interrupt. I try to calm my racing heart but his being next to me proves to be a tad too overwhelming for me. I rack my brain for something to say, and blurt out,   
  
"What are you doing here?" 

Mitsui rolls his eyes and looks away. "Nice to see you too," he mutters, more to himself than to me. "I'm on a scholarship." 

"A scholar _what_?" I exclaim. Am I hearing right? Mitsui Hisashi is on a scholarship? For what, having the most detentions in high school? What is this world coming to? 

He turns and glares at me, as if reading my mind. "A _basketball_ scholarship," he snaps. "Not an academic one. Duh." 

"Right," I say again. Then, "Um, why?" 

He shrugs. "Some talent scout offered me a place in this grand school provided that I play for Singapore in international games. Said something about needing foreign talent. The money is pretty attractive, so I said yes." 

I snort. "Figures. This is Singapore for you." 

"Wow, she can talk!" Mitsui says sarcastically. "Should I expect another complete sentence from her?" 

"Okay, so I was surprised that you showed up and maybe acted like an idiot, but you don't have to be an asshole." 

Mitsui is about to retort, but he stops himself and throws me a boyish grin instead. His smile has always resembled the early rays of sunshine bathing down on the Earth while most of us are still asleep. 

"Sorry," he says light-heartedly, and abruptly changes the subject. "You haven't told me what you're doing yet." 

"You mean before you interrupted me?" 

"Pretty much." 

His smile is infectious, like flu. It gets to you and spreads over you, but not enough to leave you permanently damaged. 

"Writing poetry," I reply.   
  



	2. Chapter Two: Poetry

Chapter Two: Poetry

I saw his fair before I saw his face. It hung over his head like a protective blanket, closing him off from the world. He strode purposefully in my direction, breezing past me and he wasn't looking at me. No, his gaze was fixed somewhere beyond me, at something I couldn't see. 

He was handsome even with that gangly mess of hair, even with the missing front teeth he'd lost in a fight. Despite being an exchange student, I knew a little about him. Everybody did, especially my 'sister', a sweet-looking petite girl named Michiko. She was obsessed with him. 

"That's Mitsui-kun!" she said to me, grabbing my arm in excitement. "He's so gorgeous, isn't he?"   


"What is he, some kind of a gangster?" 

Michiko swatted my arm playfully, and replied, "Don't be so jaded! I think he was looking at you. You're so lucky! Did you notice?" 

I scoffed. "More like looking _past_ me." I glanced sideways at her as we weave through the crowded hallway of Shohoku High, heading for our classroom. "I didn't know you were into gangsters." 

Michiko blushed. "I'm not really _into _gangsters, but there's just something about him..." 

"Ha!" I laughed. "So he _is _a gangster!" 

She stopped short and frowned. Then, realising what she'd just said, turned her face into a scowl. I couldn't stop laughing. 

Just then, a chorus of piercing shrieks sliced through the air, deafening me. Some tall guy walked past me, or maybe it was the other way round, and following closely behind was a flock of screaming, crying girls. 

"What the hell is this, a Backstreet Boys gig?" 

When Michiko didn't reply, I turned to her, and immediately took a step back. She had a dazed look on her face, as if she'd just gone to heaven. 

"Um, hello?" I waved my hand in her face. "Earth to Michiko!" 

She didn't entirely snap out of it, but she did manage to say, "Allison, I think you just walked past Rukawa Kaede." 

"Who?" 

"Rukawa Kaede. The super rookie. The most popular guy in school." 

"Oh," I said. "Okay. Where's the classroom?" 

*****

In Chemistry I wrote a poem. It was what I did all the time back home in Singapore. Chemistry lessons never failed to put me to sleep. I must say though it does inspire me, though in no ways the teacher would have liked. 

I was attempting to revise the poem while sitting at the bus stop outside the school all by myself, with a pen in hand and my trusty notebook balanced on my lap. I didn't notice the figures approaching until a shadow fell across the page, smudging my words and darkening them. 

"What are you doing?" 

I looked up, and stared right into Mitsui Hisashi's icy eyes. 

Unfazed, I replied, "Writing poetry. And you?" 

He didn't answer. He stared at me, looking for something, or nothing at all, ignoring the impatient shuffles behind him. His eyes seemed to penetrate my defense, and for a while, I thought he was looking right into my soul. 

A gust of wind swept across the landscape, causing a chill to run down my back. A lock of long hair got into Mitsui's face, and as he reached to brush it away, the connection broke. 

The corner of his lips curled into a snivelling sneer. He nodded at the figures behind him and walked off without a word. 

I stared at his retreating back, at the mane of hair that flapped about wildly in the wind. I saw something in his eyes during those brief few seconds. It was something he obviously tried to hide behind his tough, gangster facade, but not even a total makeover could change what lies in the heart. 

It was sadness that I saw in his eyes. Deep, acute sadness that came from seemingly nowhere and sank into bitter infinity. It was a wonder he hadn't already drowned in it. 

The bus arrived then, jolting me out of my reverie. I thought of Mitsui Hisashi all the way home. 


	3. Chapter Three: Fight

Chapter Three: Fight

  
"Still at it, huh," he comments. "Can I read it?" 

"Of course not." 

"Why not?" 

"Well, obviously, because it's private." 

"What's so private about poetry?" 

"What's so private about_ basketball_?" I shoot back. 

*****

I passed by the basketball court on my way to the library two days later, on Sunday. Michiko, on the assumption that I gave a toss, told me, with a certain amount of excitement in her voice, that it was where Rukawa Kaede practiced basketball every morning. 

I had heard so much about him that I was a little intrigued. This guy supposedly scored a basket once by doing an under-hand toss, a feat I had never seen before, not even in NBA games. 

I approached the open-aired court, and sure enough, somebody was there. His back was to me and I wondered what this 'super rookie' was doing, holding a basketball in his hands as if he'd never seen one in his life, until I took a closer look. 

His long hair looked blue under the sunlight. I stopped walking, and simply stood and watched him. I knew Mitsui fought and beat up people and spent most of his schooling hours in detention, but I didn't know he played basketball. Judging by the way he seemed so awestruck by the orange sphere in his hands, I was pretty sure he didn't. 

He was standing so still that I thought he was dead. I was tempted to call out just to check, but all of a sudden, he turned around. I tried to hide, but it was too late. He'd already seen me. 

His face went from shell-shock to seething rage. He dropped the basketball as if it were on fire. The ball bounced once, twice, three times, rolling away from him. 

"What are _you_ doing here?" he shouted at me. "Why are you spying on me?" 

Guilt was quickly replaced by indignation at that accusation. "Excuse me? Who's spying on you? I just happened to walk by and I saw you here." 

"And then what, you thought you'd stop and chat?" His voice dripped heavily with venom and sarcasm. He stomped towards me, looking ready to hit me if necessary. At that moment, I had no doubt that he would. 

"You know something, Mitsui?" I yelled. "I am not afraid of you. Nothing you say or do will ever terrify me. So you can drop the pretense and stop acting like a pregnant woman PMS-ing around just because I happen to catch you with a basketball in your hands! A _basketball_, for crying out loud! God forbid it be something absolutely _lethal_! What's so private about basketball?" 

Mitsui was seething mad. I could tell by his tightly-clenched fists and the look of pure hatred he was directing at me. 

"You," he hissed through gritted teeth, "don't understand _anything._ You don't _know_ anything. So just shut up." 

He picked up the basketball that had stopped at his feet, hurled it angrily against the backboard of the hoop and stomped off without a backward glance at me. 

Behind him, the basketball flew through air and, finding its way home, entered the hoop with a comfortable _swish_. Nothing but net. 

*****

  


"Does Mitsui play basketball?" 

Michiko looked up from her Mathematics notebook. "Not that I know of. Why?" 

I twirled my pen and pursed my lips, contemplating whether or not to tell her about my encounter at the basketball court. I decided not to. 

"Nothing. Just wondering." 

*****

  


There was a fight going on in school. Nobody told me, but I could tell by the way the students were whispering fiercely to each other, their eyes glowing as they went for the kill. A crowd had gathered outside the gym where basketball practice was being held. I heard angry shouts erupting from the gym, and I could swear I even heard the sound of someone being knocked against a wall. Hard. 

I glanced around, and my lips curled in disgust. All these commotion, and nobody had bothered to call a teacher. Instead, they huddled in circles, their hands gesturing wildly, their mouths shooting off a thousand words a second. 

I rolled my eyes. "Somebody should just call a frigging teacher, for crying out loud," I muttered to myself, "if they're so concerned. Morons." 

I wondered where Michiko was. She was supposed to meet me outside the gym so that we could go home. It was fifteen minutes past the time we'd scheduled to meet, and she was still nowhere to be found. 

Sighing, I sat down on a bench facing the entrance of the gym and waited. The fight raged on still, despite the fact that a teacher -- finally -- was pounding on the door, demanding the team to open up. 

His demands were cheerfully greeted by a loud, passionate cry of, "You fucking scumbag!" 

Then another crash. The impact sent wave shocks all the way to the ground beneath my feet, and I was a good ten metres away. 

I lived by the philosophy that others' miseries were not for me to gawk at. Despite being disgusted by the students who were openly enjoying the fight, I couldn't help but wonder what was happening in there. The people who had started it were angry, and they didn't care who were there to witness it. It would've been scary if I wasn't trying so hard not to care. 

Out of the corner of my eye I spotted an elderly man who looked suspiciously like Colonel Sanders walking briskly towards the gym. His glasses glinted under the sun and it hid his eyes behind its protective tinted shield. 

To my absolute surprise, he made his way through the crowd and said something to the teacher. The teacher started to protest, but Colonel Sanders patted his arm and nodded, his lips forming words that I couldn't hear. 

The teacher gave up on his cause and turned to face the students. "Get lost!" he seemed to be saying. "Leave! Or you'll all see me in detention!" 

That last line worked. The crowd dispersed quickly but reluctantly. They took their murmurs with them and all that were left behind were the occasional shouts from the gym. 

That was when I realised something. The fight had died down. 

Colonel Sanders tapped gently on the metal door, and suddenly, the doors opened, but they were slammed shut just as abruptly. Colonel Sanders was in. 

By then, I was dying to know what was happening. After what seemed like forever, the doors opened again... 

...and out stepped Mitsui Hisashi, tears running down his bloodied face, with Colonel Sanders at his side. There was blood everywhere: on his white shirt, on his forehead, trickling from the corner of his mouth. He followed Colonel Sanders to what I guessed was the infirmary, and he cried all the way.   


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A/N: There's the third part. Re-uploaded because I spotted some embarrassing typos. 

lambie: Singapore because I live here. :) 

Thanks everyone for the reviews. Keep 'em comin'. 

The Lakers won Dallas and I'm pissed. Who hates the Lakers? I do. Die Lakers, DIE! (No offence to LA fans.) 


	4. Chapter Four: What Goes Around

Chapter Four: What Goes Around

"Okay. Fine. I get your point." He's looking intently at me again, the way he used to some two years ago. Despite myself, I feel my heart scream for joy. 

"You do know what I was referring to, don't you?" 

Mitsui closes his eyes against the gentle morning sun and lets out a soft, blissful sigh. 

"Yes," he replies without opening his eyes. "Very well. Although I do wish you'd forget about it." 

I chuckle to myself. Two years have not changed him at all. He's still obsessed with that tiny thing called Pride. 

"I have. Your 'what's so private about poetry' line simply brought it back." 

Mitsui is looking at me as though I were an idiot. "Do a'hou," he spits jokingly. "That's not forgetting." 

*****

Someone was looking at me. Burning holes into my back in the middle of English, when they were supposed to be paying attention. Since I wore a different uniform from everyone else, I was used to looks, but this one went the extreme of _not relenting_. 

I almost didn't recognise him at first, when I turned to glare at the offender. It was only until I spotted the blue streaks that I realised Mitsui Hisashi was staring at me. 

Make that Hisashi with short, almost neat hair. 

He was mind-blowingly gorgeous, more so without that crazy long hair. His cheekbones were sharp and angular, his eyes almond-shaped and intense. Or maybe it was just the way he was staring at me. 

No wonder Michiko was obsessed. 

I nudged Michiko in the middle of the teacher's translation of some Japanese sentence and whispered, "Seen Mitsui's new haircut yet?" 

Immediately alert, she spun around, and, to my embarrassment, let out a sharp yelp. 

Everyone turned to stare, the teacher included. Mortified, I sank a little into my seat. 

"You did _not _have to do that," I hissed. 

Her face was red as a tomato. She tried to avoid the teacher's irritated look, but to no avail. 

"Michiko-kun, what is the problem?" he bellowed. 

Michiko gulped, but this was too huge a situation to fit into her tiny throat. 

"Um...I..." 

"You're so good at English, eh?" 

"Um...no...I..." 

"Well, form a sentence for me using the word 'myriad', then!" 

Michiko's eyes widened, a clear sign that she didn't know the meaning of the word. She kicked me under the table, somewhat desperately, for help, without giving a thought to my physical welfare. 

"Well? Hurry up! We haven't got all day!" 

Another kick under the table. I sighed in resignation. I decided quickly on a course of action and formulated a sentence in my head. Discreetly, I scribbled it on my notebook under the table while Michiko pretended to think. When she kicked me again, I almost tore out the page and crumble it, but sympathy won and I nonchalantly put the notebook back onto my table, where Michiko could see. 

"Um," she said. She cast her eyes downwards and stole a quick peek at my notebook. "Um," she said again. "'Myriad bright stars shone in the sky above.'" 

The teacher was momentarily stunned into silence. Recovering quickly, he looked suspiciously at me, but I answered by feigning a look of wonder and admiration. It did the trick; the teacher looked away. 

The teacher coughed. "Very good. Turn to page forty-six." 

I stifled a laugh as Michiko gave me a hug, behind the teacher's back, of course. I pushed her away playfully as I wondered, at the back of my mind, what a certain Mitsui thought of all this. 

Without warning, against my will, I turned around. 

Mitsui looked straight back at me. His expression was unreadable, except for the small smile playing on his lips. 

*****

"Hey." 

It was a low rumble, with a gruffy edge to it. The monosyllable was delivered with apparent nonchalance, but I knew whose mouth it escaped from and was not fooled the slightest bit. 

I looked up from my food. Mitsui was leaning against the wall with his school jacket slung over a shoulder, his face expressionless. 

In front of me Michiko's eyes almost popped. She choked on her water, which caused Mitsui to look at her, which made her choke even more. 

Rolling my eyes, I ignored her. "Hey, Mitsui." 

"Can I talk to you for a while?" 

I shrugged. "Sure." I remained in my seat and looked at him expectantly. 

He tugged at his now-short hair and shifted the weight on his feet. "In private, I mean." 

Michiko's eyes had officially popped. She choked on her sushi, and proceeded to be caught up in a coughing frenzy, making Mitsui frown at her as though she'd grown a second head. The poor girl. 

I stood up, flashed the choking Michiko a smirk, and joined Mitsui at his wall. He led me out of the cafeteria and into the school yard, where there were less pupils around. 

"Okay, what's up?" 

Mitsui's eyes were fixed on the ground as he thought about what to say. Finally, he spoke. 

"I'm thinking you want to know what happened," he began. "I saw you outside the gym yesterday, and I know you saw me, and I thought I should explain." 

I touched him lightly on the arm. "It's okay, I don't need an explanation." That was a half-truth. I didn't need to know, but I definitely wanted to. Judging by the way he looked as if he was about to throw up, however, I'd rather he didn't tell me anything. 

"No, no," he said, shaking his head. "I um, I have to tell you. But I can't. So if you want to know, go to the gym after school at 3 o'clock." He looked at me pointedly, as if revealing a major secret. "You'll see." 

"Oh, okay," i said slowly. I searched his face for the slightest clue to tell me what was going on, but his face was guarded, except for the pained look, but it too, was beginning to fade. 

"Okay," I said again. "I'll be there." 

"Good, good," he murmured, more to himself than to me. I thought we were done, but he went on, "About Sunday, at the basketball court..." 

"I thought you forgot about it." 

He stopped short, and threw me a quizzical glance. "Why?"   


"Well, you're not looking at me like you hate me anymore." 

Mitsui's features finally relaxed. He made a sound that sounded like laughter, but I wasn't sure. 

"That's not forgetting. But um, I uh, am...um, sorry" -- he stumbled over the word and avoided my eyes -- "about blowing up at you. You know, that day." 

I nodded and smiled. "Don't worry about it."   


------------------------------------ 

magenta blues: Thanks for the feedback. When I was writing the thing I didn't know where it was headed either. Haha it showed eh? I have a clearer idea now, don't worry, but because I'm used to writing short stories (blame it on school), I suck at plot development so bear with me. and yes, horrors of horrors, the words 'mitsui' and 'idiot' cannot exist in the same sentence! That is like, totally wrong! (Thanks for reviewing 'Sky'.) 

idiotic_moron14: Yeah! Another anti-Lakers person! Who're you supporting? Thanks for the review. :) 

mskitsune: Thanks too. I like your s/n. 

Keep the reviews coming. You all rock. 

  



	5. Chapter Five: Sunlight

Chapter Five: Sunlight

The campus is unusually quiet. Normally, the school field would be buzzing with students, from the EPL*-loving football fanatics to tired students taking a break from their incessant mountain of books. Today though, save for a few guys kicking a football around and a small group of students lounging on the spectators' stand, it is just Mitsui and I, lying side-by-side on the wide patch of grassy green (a good distance away from the football people), not doing anything in particular and just letting time past. 

"How long is lunch?" 

"An hour and a half," I reply. I check my watch. "We have about twenty minutes more before classes start." 

Mitsui groans. "Classes. Great. I love classes. Especially Mathematics. Who gets those things anyway?" 

"A lot of people, supposedly," I answer with a laugh. "My mother, for instance, actually, gasp, likes it. And anyway, it's not really _that_ hard once you get the hang of it." 

"First day at school, and I'm dissed by my old pal," he scowls. "Life is great. I love Singapore. You all are oh-so-hospitable." 

Playfully, I give his arm a slight punch, which causes him to yell out in indignation. "I ain't dissing ya, baby. I'm just saying what is true." 

"Fiiiiiiiine," he says. "Whatever you say." He rolls over and faces me, breaking the thin glass of air molecules between us. "This grass is really nice. Has it always been so?" 

I laugh again, a little longer this time. What a pathetic way of changing the subject! 

"You're brilliant," I say between laughter. "Really, really brilliant." 

*****

  


Three o'clock, and I stood outside the gym, waiting for Mitsui to materialise. I was treated to more weird glances as a few students whom I assumed were on the team filed into the gym, one by one.   


Then I saw Rukawa. He was walking towards me, his eyes partially closed, listening to some jarring music blasting from his Discman.   


"Hey," I said as he approached. "Rukawa, is it?"   


He blinked as my words registered in his brains. He glanced at me, his face totally void of emotions. He grunted something inaudible and shuffled past me.   


"Stupid zombie," I muttered. "Who cares if you're good-looking?"   


Somebody chuckled behind me, and this time, I was sure that it was a laugh.   


"You're late. It's 3.05."   


Mitsui didn't answer. Instead, he took my elbow and steered me into the gym.   


"Take off your shoes," he directed softly. "The floor was waxed a few days ago."   


I looked at him questioningly, but he wasn't paying attention. His gaze was fixed on the court. The basketball court. He had a faraway look in his eyes. For a moment, I thought he'd forgotten about me.   


"I have to show you something." He was with me again. His head was slightly tilted as he turned his attention back to me.   


That was when I noticed the scar. It was a simple line of about five centimetres long. The red was fading, leaving the white. It was almost non-descript, but there was something about the way the sunlight was shining on it, illuminating it, saving it from darkness.   


"Allison, what is it?"   


I realised I was staring. I smiled a little and shook my head. "Nothing," I replied. Remembering what he asked me to do, I took off my shoes.   


"You have something to show me?"   


"Yeah. Wait here. You'll see."   


I waited and watched as Mitsui approached one of the members of the basketball team and received a ball from him. He moved slowly, dribbling the ball as he walked towards the three-point line, as if he was trying to get a feel of the ball.   


Quite honestly, I was stunned by his performance before it had even begun. He was the smoothest dribbler I'd ever seen, surpassing even the most famous NBA names. He handled the ball like it were a part of him, pressing down on it nonchalantly and effortlessly, as if it were second-nature to breathing.   


Still, I was confused. Perhaps I should've guessed, but I was too busy marvelling over Mitsui's effortless dribbling to make that crucial connection. Before I could attempt to get my head around it, Mitsui was taking aim. And not only that...he was taking aim from the three-point line.   


His brows furrowed as he concentrated. He held the ball high in front of him and took a tiny step back. Then, looking like helium personified, he pushed his feet against the ground and elevated himself into the air. His graceful movement transcended even time; all were still as Mitsui Hisashi flicked the ball from him and towards the goal.   


Swoosh. My mind flashed back to that day at the basketball court. It was an angry, random shot, but this precise one produced the same result.   


Nothing but net.   


Mitsui landed back on Earth and was greeted by enthusiastic cheering from whoever had seen him, which was almost everyone in the gym.   


"Way to go, Mitsui-san!"   


"Awesome shot!"   


"That was beautiful!"   


Mitsui turned to look at me. His gaze was questioning, perhaps even slightly unsure.   


"That's your answer," he said softly.   


I drew in a deep breath as I reached my epiphany. I finally understood.   


"You're brilliant," I replied, for there was nothing else to say.   


For a while, his expression did not change. But as sunlight dripped onto his body, his features relaxed, and I was treated to, for the very first time, Mitsui Hisashi's beautiful, unguarded smile.   


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*EPL - English Premiere League. 

Thanks for the reviews to those who did so. Idiotic Moron, sorry to burst your bubble but I didn't write that myriad sentence. I took it from my wonderful, amazing Longman dictionary. Haha. :) 

Personally, this chapter is my favourite, minus the present tense bit. I got a real kick out of writing that part when Missy takes a three-pointer. He always looks like helium personified in the show and I'm always like, "MITSUIIIIIII!!!!!!!!", really loudly, kind of like the Rukawa groupies, haha. 

I don't really read over what I've typed because I've written the whole thing in an exercise book, so I apologise in advance for any typos and/or grammatical errors. Punctuation errors, however, are inexcusable, so you can flame me if you see any. Otherwise, click on that nice little button at the bottom of the page, on the left, that says 'go'. You see it? My, doesn't it look all cute and alluring and inviting, the way it's just _waiting _for you to click on? I think so too.   
  
(By the way, super rookie, Mitsui is wanting to explain because if he's not, then I'd have absolutely nothing to write about.) 

  



	6. Chapter Six: Spite

Chapter Six: Spite

"Arigatou," Mitsui says dryly. "Very much. In fact, why don't you just hit me harder?" 

This time, I crack up for real. Mitsui's sour face make me wish I had a camera with me so that I could capture this beautiful, hilarious moment forever and haunt him with my glorious photograph years after we've graduated (assuming Mitsui is able to graduate) and settled down, with kids of our own. It would be a moment cemented in human history, for Mitsui Hisashi's sour face is one that is _incredibly _priceless. It is one of a kind, it is precious and it is comical in its own rights. His eyebrows are turned down and they connect to form a V, his eyes are narrowed, presumably menacingly, at me, and his lips are pursed, like a disgruntled two-year-old whose mother refuses to let him eat ice-cream before dinner at six o'clock. 

I admit. He looks adorable. But that is beside the point. 

"You're welcome," I say cheekily. "I'd grant your request anytime you want me to. Just say the word!"   
  
"Very funny," he mutters. "If you weren't the only friend I have in this stupid school, I would've severed ties with you already. So consider yourself lucky." 

"Consider _myself_ lucky? Hisashi, I think it's the other way round. I'm the only friend you have in this wonderful school, so without me you'd be all lonely and sad. I mean, who'd listen to you spew your usual shit about mostly nothing? Who would accompany you on the school field during lunch when normal people are actually _having_ lunch? Who would -- " 

"Oh, shut up!" he snaps. "I can't believe how annoying you've become. What happened to the mysterious, nice girl whom I met in Shohoku? Who the hell is this _monster _before me?" 

"Please, lay off the flattery here, will you?" I think he's gone completely mad. As in insane. He's just brought up the past. That is reason enough for me to bring him to Woodbridge* and personally slap him in a straitjacket and automatically grant him the right to plead insanity before the judge when I sue him for mental distraught. 

We were getting along nicely before, and I don't want history to come along to mess things up. 

"Anyway," I say quickly before Mitsui can continue with his unfortunate tangent. "I was just messing with you but surely you know that." 

"Yeah, I do, of course." 

"Of course." 

Silence. Just what I was dreading. The word 'Shohoku' did it. I just knew it. I just knew the past is better left untouched. Call me a coward, but I believe in dealing with problems only when you absolutely have to, only when you have exhausted all other resources. In other words, I believe in running away until the problem solves itself. 

This situation can solve itself, for I know just the solution. 

"Come with me," I say, shaking off the last slivers of discomfort. "I'll take you to the basketball court."   
  


*****

Mitsui lived for basketball. That much was obvious from the way he charged up and down the court, expertly shaking off half-baked defenders from his trail and hitting one perfect three-pointer after another. But his fervour and passion for the game showed not only in the way he played; it also showed in the way he responded to good shots. 

His response was still guarded and tentative, however, seeing as he'd rejoined the team for less than three hours. But the signs were there, a little smirk when his shots, mostly from the outside, were on target, a shake of the fist when he made successful lay-ups. He was truly in his element. 

I watched Mitsui's first basketball practice in his third year of high school from the sidelines. After his explanatory three-pointer, Mitsui had asked me to stay and watch. I couldn't find any reason not to, so I happily complied. 

I sat quietly with a girl named Ayako, who managed the team. She was a fiery but friendly person who initiated conversations and asked me about my 'relationship' with Mitsui. 

"How did you get to know him?" she queried. 

"Um," I said. "Tough question. I'm not sure. His first words to me were, 'What are you doing?' And..." I trailed off as I thought of the incident at the basketball court. I shrugged. "I don't know, really." 

Ayako shot me a curious glance but she didn't pursue it any further. 

"So what do you think of the team?" 

"They're good," I answered. "NBA-good. Who coaches them?"   
  
Ayako smiled, obviously pleased with my positive assessment of the team. "Well, we have a coach, but Akagi, the captain, is the one who does the training." 

"Oh," I said, although I didn't know who Akagi was. 

We lapsed into silence as we focused on the practice session. Some tall red-head accidentally jabbed his elbow into an unknowing defender's face, causing him to cry out in pain. 

Next to me, Ayako lept out of her chair and blasted her whistle. "Foul, Hanamichi!" she yelled. For a demure-looking girl, she sure packed a lot of punch. 

I looked at Mitsui again. He was taking a break, drinking from the water cooler and wiping his sweaty face with his towel. He was panting rather heavily, like he'd collapse from exhaustion any minute. 

I excused myself and went over to him. To my surprise, he was actually _wheezing_. 

"Hey, are you okay?" 

Mitsui started at the sound of my voice. "Oh, Allison! I didn't see you coming." Pant, pant. "Yeah, I'm fine." Pant, pant. "I just" -- pant -- "have really bad stamina." 

A stupid remark -- "But you're an athlete!" -- almost shot out of my mouth, but I forced it back in time, 

I started to reply, but a collective gasp from the players caught my attention. I whirled around just in time to see Rukawa Kaede grab the basketball in mid-air, do a hundred-and-eighty degrees spin, and slam the ball into the hoop. 

The ring rattled noisily. His teammates started to cheer, but Rukawa paid them no attention and muttered something under his breath, apparently directed at that red-head Hanamichi, who'd scowled and yelled something that sounded like, "Baka kitsune!" after Rukawa made his dunk. 

Beside me, Mitsui grunted. "That's Rukawa for you," he muttered. "Super rookie." 

"Yeah..." I said slowly. He sounded resentful, and even _looked _slightly resentful. "He's really good." 

"Sure," Mitsui replied curtly. Taking one last sip of water, he walked back to the court without a word.   
  


*****

It was towards the end of basketball practice that I remembered Michiko. 

"Shit!" I exclaimed loudly. 

Heads turned in my direction, including, surprisingly, Rukawa's. Too worried to be embarrassed, I got off my chair as quick as lightning and began to panic. 

"Dammit!" I say again, this time softer and mostly to myself. 

****"What's wrong?" Ayako asked. She looked concerned, and understandably so; she had to sit next to a lunatic who'd swore out loud twice without warning. 

"My friend!" I rambled as I grew more and more anxious. "My surrogate sister! Or whatever! I was supposed to meet her three hours ago!" 

"Why don't you just give her a call?" 

Mitsui's tone was matter-of-fact, which immediately made me feel silly. It was obviously the only thing to do under such circumstances, seeing as it wasn't as if I could turn back time and make things better. 

"Oh. Right." I whipped out my mobile phone and quickly dialled Michiko's number, at the same time going off by myself to one corner so that I wouldn't serve any further as a possible source of distraction. Michiko picked up on the first ring. 

"Allison!" she screeched, piercing my eardrums. "Where in the _world_ have you been? I've been looking everywhere for you for the past three hours and I'm beat! Why didn't you tell me you couldn't meet me? Do you know how worried I've been?" 

"I'm sorry -- " 

"And you know what? My _parents_ blamed me for not looking after you! They blame _me_! Allison, you better come up with a decent explanation or it's the first plane back to Singapore for you!"   
  
"Okay, okay! Just hear me out!" 

"Fine. I'm listening." 

I drew in a deep breath. That Michiko could really sound like a slaughtered chicken when she wanted to. 

"Okay. I'm in the gym, and -- " 

"You are _where_?" 

Frustrated, I gave the nearest wall a vicious kick. The stupid wall quickly retaliated by giving my toe an awful sore. 

"Dammit!" I yelled, at both Michiko and the freaking wall. "Just _listen_ to me!" 

"I'm in the gym," I went on when Michiko didn't answer. "It's a long story, but I'll tell you everything when I get back. I'm sorry I left you waiting, it was shitty of me and I've absolutely no excuse. I'll explain everything when I get back, okay?" 

She was silent. I was beginning to think that she'd hung up on me. I even turned my phone over to check; she was still on the line. 

"You're at basketball practice, aren't you," she finally stated flatly. 

"Um, yeah, but -- " 

"Who invited you?" she interrupted. 

It finally struck me where she was heading with that question. I had no doubt, and proof surfaced within the next few seconds: 

"Mitsui did." 

Another drawn-out silence. I felt myself beginning to sweat. 

"Oh," she said. "I see." 

Then the line went dead.   
  
  
------------------------- 

*Woodbridge: Mental asylum in Singapore. 

Oh my god. I didn't know that I've already written this. I completely forgot about it. Oh my god. 

Sometimes, I am so clever that I truly amaze myself. 

Thanks to all who reviewed the previous chapters. I appreciate it. I have a feeling that this fic has been long forgotten, but who said I gave a shit? 

fehrocious: Aww thanks. Your review made me smile. Even though that was back in December '02, I remember smiling when I read your review, so there. Thanks a lot. 

sakura88: Mitsui is sooooo swoon-worthy, isn't he? Gad, I love him so much. I'd put my sanity on the line for him. I'd give my life for him. I'd even give up my right to write for him!...okay, I wouldn't. That's too much to ask for. But yeah. Thanks. 

moomoo: love the nick. :P Thanks for the review. 

frozenfemale: She doesn't know 'cause she's a transfer student and 'cause Mitsui has just returned to the team. Not a lot of people know he was MVP. I think. Ack, it's been so long since the last I touched this thing so yeah, kinda forgot. Bleah. Anyway, thanks for the review. 

super rookie: What can I say? Thanks a bunch. You should write more though. Your fics are great. 

Swiftfire: Um, okay. *looks around* Yeah, it's just you. No, really, thanks for the feedback. Appreciate it. 

I think I've written Chapter Seven. I'll go and check. 

-Yelen, Hisashi's 'blur' soulmate. 


	7. Chapter Seven: GreenEyed Monster

Chapter Seven: Green-Eyed Monster

When we arrive at the basketball court, which is located just next to the field, it's already ten minutes to the end of lunch break. I don't know what Mitsui could possibly accomplish in ten minutes, but that's not really my problem so I keep my mouth shut. We sneaked a ball out from the equipment room as neither of us was bothered to change into a proper attire (as it's a required rule - stupid, but sadly, true). It was definitely an adventure to be remembered... because we almost got caught. 

"Fortunately for you," Mitsui is saying as he spins the ball on one finger, "I thought quickly on my feet and distracted that nerdy student assistant, or we'd both be in serious trouble right now." 

"You? Quick-thinking?" I snort. "I told you to distract that guy after you were frozen on the spot, going, 'Oh shit, Allison! Someone's here! How?'" I pat his back with exaggerated sympathy and understanding. "If it weren't for me, you would be in the principal's office now." 

He swats my hand away and scowls. "You would be, too, so stop talking like you're all that, okay?" 

"Actually, I wouldn't be. I'd deny that I know you and you'd -- " 

I'm rudely interrupted by Mitsui's noisy dribbling, and he's now pretending not to hear a word I'm saying. God, he's so infuriating. 

"You're so infuriating," I tell him as he attempts a three-pointer. No good; the ball bounces out of the rim. 

"Kuso," Mitsui says. "My form wasn't right. All thanks to your yammering." 

"My what?" I protest indignantly as I watch Mitsui execute yet another three-pointer. This time, the ball sails comfortably into the net with a soft _swish_. 

Mitsui Hisashi, sharp and accurate as ever. 

He turns to face me with an ironic upward twitch of a corner of his mouth. 

"That's why they call me the MVP." 

And still as cocky and arrogant as ever. 

I roll my eyes and don't bother with a reply. It doesn't matter anyway, because he's already turned his attention back to basketball. 

"The balance in mid-air after a light jump..." Mitsui flips the ball towards himself with the fingertips, his eyes fixed on the hoop. 

"The awesome feeling of my fingers against the surface of the ball..." He holds the ball in front of him. 

"The power in my wrist..." His feet leave the ground and he shoots, his right hand propelling the ball forward like a catapult. 

It's a basket. 

"Somehow, I just know that the shot is successful after the ball leaves my hand. I never doubt it. I just... _know_. It's an instinctive knowledge, hard to explain." 

It has been two years since I last saw him. But those two years have not erased any of the memories I have of him. Those memories are largely made up of images of his aiming, recollections of the sound of his perfect shots, flashes of the way he controlled the ball so that it always sailed right into the net. 

As I watch him now many of those memories come rushing back. The first time I saw him making a goal in the park; his explanatory three-pointer in the gym; all of his matches that I've seen; and not forgetting, most importantly, all the feelings that come along with the package. 

Mitsui Hisashi has always been a one-of-a-kind type of person. He's definitely an exceptional cager; any newcomer to the sport would agree if they had the chance to see him in action. He shoots effortlessly, even when his stamina is about to betray him, because he's done those shots, those movements, so many times that they have already infiltrated into his bloodstream. 

Even if his stamina forgets, the rest of his body remembers. And his accuracy? 

It's something called 'talent'. 

*****

I made a hasty exit immediately after the phone call from hell with Michiko. Fuming mad although I knew I didn't really have the right to, I stomped out of the school building and waited at the bus stop alone. It was a few minutes after six and it was getting dark. Hopefully, I'd get out of this in one piece. 

Twenty minutes passed. Still no sign of the damn bus. Sighing, I took out a book -- _The Catcher in the Rye_ -- and started reading. I was laughing silently at how Holden Caufield called everybody phonies when I felt a sudden tap on my shoulder. 

"Argh!" I yelled, convinced that I was being attacked by a rapist. "Get away from me!" 

"Um, relax," said the 'rapist'. His voice sounded familiar. "It's just me. Mitsui." 

Mitsui. The realisation began to dawn on me. I blushed in embarrassment. 

"Oh, sorry. Didn't know it was you. I thought I was going to be raped." 

He laughed. "Don't be stupid. Nobody would rape a girl in broad daylight." 

"What do you mean, broad daylight?" I retorted. "It's getting dark." 

"No, it's still pretty early. Trust me, I've lived here my whole life." 

"Oh." I didn't know what to say to that. In fact, I didn't know what to say anymore. An uncomfortable silence descended upon our small talk, and I noted that he was still standing. 

"Why don't you sit down?" I blurted out. _Thank you, self, for filling up the silence_, I congratulated myself silently. 

He sat. We were next to each other, but seated far apart, as if any contact would ultimately be disastrous. I didn't know whether to be offended or thankful. 

"So what happened with your friend?" he asked, probably because there wasn't much to say. 

"Yelled at me," I answered. "She was mad." 

"Over something so trivial?" He was frowning. 

I smiled to myself. Mitsui dear, you don't know half of it. In fact, you don't even know a quarter of it. It goes so much more than just blowing off a friend. 

I shrugged and pretended to be baffled myself. I wasn't about to tell Mitsui about Michiko's perpetual crush on him. "I guess people are strange." 

"Tell me about it," he snorted. "Take our resident Ice King, for example. Such a block of ice, and so many girls are crazy over him. I just don't get it." 

"Well, it's obviously because he's cute," I replied, rolling my eyes. "He has great looks and he doesn't talk, so girls tend to think it's mysterious. And he plays great basketball." 

Mitsui snorted again. "Great basketball," he muttered. "Great looks. So what?" 

I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye. He had that same annoyed look I caught sight of back in the gym, when Rukawa made that beautiful slam dunk. Now seemed like the right time to ask. 

"Are you actually jealous of him?" 

"No!" he protested, a little too quickly. "Why would I be jealous of him? I play as well as he does. No, wait, I play better than him. And I'm better-looking than him. There's nothing to do jealous of." 

I chuckled to myself. "So why the sour face when he made that slam dunk?" 

He didn't answer, and simply sat beside me, glaring at nobody. 

Just then, the bus arrived. It screeched to a halt at the stop, catching my attention. 

I stood up. "Bus is here, I gotta go." 

To my surprise, he stood up too. "Taking the same bus." Seeing the look of confusion on my face, he added, "Why else do you think I came here for?" 

Without waiting for a reply, he sauntered up the bus. I followed behind, thankful that he didn't expect an answer. Because I had genuinely thought that he went to the bus stop to talk to me. I guess I was wrong. 

*****

  
  
"30%?" 

"No." 

"25%?" 

I shook my head. "Nope." 

"20%...?" 

I grinned. "Nope." 

He cocked an eyebrow. "Are you telling me...that you obtained a zero on one of your tests?" 

Still grinning, I nodded. "Yep." 

"And that's like, the lowest you've ever got? Ever?" 

"Well, obviously," I said. "You can't get lower than zero, can you?" 

"Oh. Right. And I thought _I_ was a lousy student." 

"It was just this one test, this one stupid topic that nobody understood. It doesn't mean I'm a bad student. I do ace some subjects, you know. I mean you probably fail everything, right?" 

Mitsui glowered at me. "No, I don't. I do pass some subjects." 

"Like what?" 

He thought for a while. "Um, well, P.E...." 

I started laughing. Really laughing. A few passengers turned to stare at me, but that didn't quell my laughter. Talk about pathetic! Failing everything but P.E.? It's not even a proper subject! 

"It's not even a proper subject!" I said between laughter. "You don't need to study for it, all you need to do is follow the teacher's instructions." 

"Allison? I know we just met and all and I shouldn't say this," Mitsui began, seemingly ignoring my comments. "But can you, possibly, shut up?" 

"Aww somebody's angry," I teased. "I'm so scared!" 

"Haha, very funny," he muttered. "When are you going to get off the stupid bus?" 

"If you're _that_ averse to my company, why don't you just sit elsewhere?" 

It was in jest, all in jest. There was no way I could've known that Mitsui would really stand up, step over my legs, and find himself another seat. 

He turned back and threw me a smirk. "You asked for it." 

I spent the rest of the journey staring at the back of his head, until he called out a 'see you tomorrow' and got off the bus at his stop. 

Mitsui Hisashi was on my mind all the time after that. I finally understood Michiko's crush. 

*****

  
_ "He likes you, doesn't he!"_

Those were the very words that greeted me when I stepped into my temporary home. 

_"And you like him too, don't you!"_

Not to mention Michiko's angry, flustered face. 

All the feel-good vibes I'd got during my bus ride with Mitsui immediately flew out of the window. I glance around the house for signs of Michiko's parents, but I see none. 

"Where are your parents?" 

Her eyes widened. "My _parents_? You have the audacity to ask about my _parents_? Who cares about my goddamn parents? Tell me what the hell you were doing at basketball practice and why Mitsui invited you!" 

I stepped past her and headed for my bedroom. I sensed her following me, sensed her frustration and bitterness, but I ignored it. 

"I won't tell you anything as long as you keep yelling at me," I said with feigned calmness. All I wanted, really, was to hurl things at Michiko and ask her to shut her trap and go to hell. But I couldn't. It wasn't my house. 

I turned to face her and look her squarely in the eye. "You need to calm down. But in the meantime, if you want to jump to conclusions, be my bloody guest." 

With that, I slammed the door in her face. 

I was pissed. No, wait. I was _beyond_ pissed. I thought I didn't have the right to be, but I'd changed my mind. I'd always known that Michiko was a bit of a spoilt brat, but never would I have fathomed that she was spoilt to _this_ extreme. It was crazy. It was so unreasonable. Why hadn't I known about her deadly character flaw? I was so going to suffer for the rest of my stay. 

Suddenly, there was loud banging on my door. 

"Open the door!" It was, of course, Michiko. She was screeching like a slaughtered chicken. "Dammit Allison, open the door!" 

That was it. I had enough. I picked up the nearest object - an encyclopedia - and hurled it at the door. 

"Fuck off!" 

The encyclopedia clattered loudly to the floor, where it laid carelessly, forced open to a particular page. When I retrieved it, the cover fell off in my hand. 

*****

Michiko's parents were hospitable. They came into my room to ask if I was all right when they came home and discovered that Michiko and I weren't talking. Apparently Michiko refused to talk to them; they told me that she would not open her bedroom door, no matter how hard they tried to talk to her. They finally gave up and came to me. 

I didn't tell them anything except the obvious, that we had a fight. I didn't tell them what it was about. I especially didn't tell them that it was over Mitsui Hisashi. 

That night, I had trouble falling asleep, even though all I wanted was to deliver myself to Dreamland and forget that day ever happened. But my mind refused to cooperate; it replayed the ugly events of the night over and over, like a music video put on heavy rotation on MTV. 

Her words kept coming back to me: "_He likes you, doesn't he! And you like him too, don't you_!" 

They were just wild accusations. Words she hurled at me during the heat of the moment, due to her blind jealousy. They didn't mean a thing. 

Still, I couldn't help wondering: Do I really like him... ? 

If so, why am I such an idiot? 

------------- 

There you go. Hopefully the formatting's not to screwed up when I post it. 

Shari: Nah, it's okay. I don't really mind either way. Ha, glad you like this piece of shit though. Thanks. 

Yuriko: Yah I know! Sucks that we're Sars-infected and everything. Ah well. Heh, true, he WOULD try to escape and play basketball. That's what he did when he had that knee injury, besides. Haha. Thanks for the review. 

Yingxue: I lurve your name so I'll just call you Yingxue. Can? (Your name IS Yingxue right? Gomen, someone going senile here.) Anyway, I'm actually seventeen this year. My birthday haven't come yet you see. In JJC. Crappy school but better than St. Nicholas. Haha. You're in secondary school right? Which school if you don't mind telling me? And regarding the self-insert thing... yah I know I damn BHB lah but the OC here's kinda based on myself. The first few chaps are actually based on this really strong movie I had in my head while trying to read my Chemistry/Biology textbooks in preparation for the O Levels. Bwahahahaha. So yah it's kind of a self-insert. Which is why this fic really sucks. Okay, you're his best friend. No prob. Just don't steal my lover from me can already. Bwahaha - um, yes. =) 

akira-akisame: Aww I'm touched. Thanks for the review, really appreciate it. This crappy fic was the first one I posted actually. I'm kind of out of ideas so yeah. It's going to really suck. Trust me. 

moomoo/yanling: Michiko's Japanese. Allison is staying with her family 'cos she's an exchange student from Singapore. I had a Japanese exchange student in my class once, just last year actually. She couldn't really speak English. Damn fair though, that girl. Anyway I stay in Bt. Batok. You leh? 

I seriously think this fic's going NOWHERE. Sorry for wasting everyone's time but I won't give up on this. I REFUSE. Yep. Have fun. 

-Yelen 

  



End file.
